Us and Them
by Poohgirl32
Summary: After the apple pie life turns sour, Dean re-joins Sam on the hunt at Bobby's urging. While there, Dean continues his search for peace, while Sam begins to learn the origins of hunters
1. Prolouge

Title: Us and Them

Author:Poohgirl32

Rating: M (for Violence and sexual themes)

Summary: After the apple pie life turns sour, Dean re-joins Sam on the hunters battlefield. The boys take off to the swamp lands of Western Kentucky at Bobby's urging. While there, Dean continues his search for happiness, while Sam begins to learn the origins of hunters-and himself.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, I would be busy having love scenes with the characters, instead of filling my time by writing about it.

PROLOUGE

James Carson was excited. Last year he couldn't have imaged Laura Hill speaking to him, and now here they were on their third date. Yes, senior year was going to be epic! First, there had been Dylan. The two of them had been best friends since kindergarten, but in Jr. High they parted ways. Dylan's large build had gotten him recruited to the football team and his interest in video games and Star Wars movies faded. His athletic talent, easy going personality and good looks had moved him into the popular click quickly, leaving James behind.

Then last year Dylan was hurt early in the season. The doctors said he could play after a month, but his mother put her foot down, ending his athletic career. His absence was blamed for the losing season, and he quickly fell out of grace with the "in" crowd. James continued to watch from the sidelines as Dylan's depression sent him from one group to another, finally settling on, of all things, the dark and rebellious troupe ruled by the most unlikely of underclassman.

Dylan had brought Angie, his girlfriend and cheerleader extraordinaire along with him. Her friends, including Laura, soon followed. Slowly but surely, Goth and Glam was becoming the ruling class of Fulton High School.

James had just recently been brought into the fold of the new alliance. He ran into Dylan in the comic book store and after a few awkward comments on a LARP game, the friendship was renewed.

It was Dylan who had encouraged him to ask out Laura. Two months ago, he wouldn't have had the nerve to speak to her in the hall. Yet here he was, in the middle of the night, making his way into the woods to relieve himself of the beers they'd been downing as well as checking the condom in his pocket for the twentieth time.

He leaned against a tree to steady himself. He felt his foot sinking into the marsh as he began urinating on a bush. He laughed to himself as the leaves began to droop from the spray. He heard a rustling behind him.

"Dude, you decide to join me?" He zipped his pants and started to turn, but his foot wouldn't break free from the mud. "Great." He thought, as he turned his head, expecting to see his friend behind him. There was nothing there. He began struggling as the rustling continued.

"Dylan?" he asked quietly. Wiggling the foot seemed to push it deeper into the dark muck so he reached down and grabbed the denim of his pants with one hand, yanking hard. The noise was coming closer. "Dude." He called out as the fear began to creep in. "Help me."

With both hands he pulled, all his strength aimed at freedom. Instead, his hands slipped from the heavy cotton fabric and he began to fall backwards. His arms flayed out and finally grabbed a low hanging branch from a nearby tree. Just as he was steadying himself, the rustling behind him became thunderous. His scream was cut short as he was hit from behind with such force that the breath was knocked out of him.

He was being carried deeper into the woods by an unseen force. He looked down at his now freed foot and saw nothing but a bloody stump.

James Carson fainted.

The three teens stood around the campfire just outside the woods. The air was momentarily filled with James' scream, before it was cut off. Grinning, Dylan turned to the girls.

"Got him." He draped his arm around Angie, who in turn wrapped both arms around his waist.

"How long should we wait?" She purred.

"He'll call when it's safe." He twisted open a beer and drank. "Then, we'll call 911 and stick to the story, RIGHT." He glared to Laura, who was staring down at the fire.

1


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

The Impala ripped through the Indiana countryside. The sun had set and as darkness over took the landscape it seemed to swallow the car. If not for the occasional glint of chrome caught by the moon or the sounds of Metallica which served as the sound track of the night, the Winchesters may not have been there at all.

"Want to talk about it?" Sam asked.

"No." Dean didn't take his eyes off the road.

"Why did you tell her you were leaving?"

"She didn't care why, as long as I was going."

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd be happy."

He didn't reply.

"What did she say?"

"GOODBYE, Sam – She said Goodbye."

He caught the hurt look on Sam's face in the glow from the dash.

"Look. I'm sorry! I tried it your way. I tried the apple pie life. It didn't work out."

He had tried. Not for him, not for her. Not even for Ben. He had made a promise to Sam. He just never could settle into a 'normal' life. He didn't even know what that was.

His days were spent wandering aimlessly through the house. He'd fixed every leaky faucet, squeaky door, and loose knob he could find. He'd rebuilt the Impala's motor and rotated the tires twice. He'd changed every fluid, filter and belt Lisa's Camary had. He had done everything but literally climb the walls, and there were days when he thought of trying that.

He had tried to be happy, but no matter what he did, there was an emptiness he couldn't fill. The Horseman Famine had told him he was dead inside. Was that the problem? _Was _there a hole inside him so big it couldn't be filled, not even by the love of a good woman like Lisa, or a great kid like Ben?

Ben. He was great. Dean loved spending time with him. Somebody had to teach him the important stuff – how to fish, how to pick up girls, how to fight. Lisa, of course, had put an end to that. Or so she thought. The two or three hours they spent alone in the afternoon occasionally found them outside practicing defensive moves. At least the kid could take care of himself now.

Dean was also good about sneaking in the movies Lisa would never allow. He'd started with the Porky's series. Monty Python was a must. Then, every Friday the 13th – Jason was such a pussy, he'd thought. That Leprechaun was a bitch, though. The last one he brought home had some chick climbing out of a well. It had reminded him of the time he almost lost Sam to Bloody Mary when she climbed out of the mirror. He decided Ben didn't need to see him cry about shit like that.

And Lisa, other than a few arguments over Ben, they were great together. She tried hard to make a life for them. Dinner at 7:00 p.m., Ben in bed by 9:00, then the two of them would sit and talk about the day, or the news – never the past, she couldn't handle that and neither could he. Weekends were spent at the farmer's market or cookouts with friends. The kind of existence he had smirked at when watching Brady Bunch re-runs.

But lately he had become restless. She knew it and the tension between them had become unbearable at times.

"I just feel like I'm dragging you back into this, and I don't want to do that."

"Look, Bobby's the one who called. He's the one worried about whatever it is going on down there." He shook his head. "This job just gave me an out."

"I'm just saying, you didn't have to leave."

"Well, I couldn't stay."

It had been hard to go on without him. Sam had been all he'd ever had since their mother's death. True, John had been there, more of a drill sergeant that a father. When they were small, he often left them with different people while he was off on a hunt. As they got older, Dean took over the role of father for Sam, living in cheap motels for weeks at a time; cooking for him, washing his clothes, and helping with homework. So much of him had fallen in that pit with Sam.

More than anything, he had tried to keep him safe, to shield him from all the evil out there. But in the end, it was him who had pulled his brother back into harm's way. Dean could never shake that guilt.

In his absence, he'd worried, no idea what Sam was going through. He'd been to hell – was the cage worse? There he was, battling Lucifer on the inside. Was he having to fight Michael/Adam on the outside?

Sometimes, late at night he'd go out back and call for Castile. Hoping he could at least give him some answers. But Cas was busy with his own problems.

And then, there he was. Standing on Lisa's door step.

'I'm not sure what happened.' He'd told him. 'I was falling, and then – nothing.' Dean understood the reluctance to talk about it. He'd gone through the same thing when he returned from hell.

He looked over at Sam, sleeping against the door. 'That boy's head should be permanently dented' he thought. He looked so much older now, grown-up. He knew Sam didn't need him now, not like he did when he was a kid. He'd beat an addiction Dean couldn't imagine. He'd fought the most evil being known - and he'd won. After twenty-eight years, he no longer had to take care of his little brother.

He had been to heaven and hell - literally. Now where did he go?

As if to answer him, his phone rang.

"Bobby?"

"Dean. Where you at?"

"Getting ready to cross over into Kentucky."

"How'd Lisa take you going out on a job for a few days?"

"We agreed I might ought to go back to work full time."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Bobby spoke, his voice soft.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't know things were that bad."

"You know how it is. My life gave her nightmares and hers just scared the shit out of me."

Bobby chuckled slightly at this. He had never been able to picture Dean behind a white picket fence, but he admired him for trying.

"Where's Sam?"

"Right beside me, sleeping like a freakishly large baby?"

"He fill you in on everything going on over there?"

"Yeah, most of it."

"Well, I just got a call. There's been another disappearance. A 16 year old kid."

"Any ideas?"

"No, and my friend down there is getting pretty worried. Give me a call when you get there, okay?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

Sam was sitting at the dinner adjacent to the motel. The newspaper in front of him proclaimed "Local Teen Missing in Swap" A sub-title went on 'Fourth disappearance in three weeks'. Below the headlines, a picture of 17 year old James Carson smiled up at Sam. His eyes glistened with hope for the future. Sam felt a pain in his stomach. He knew that gleam - years ago, he had the same look.

Bobby had called earlier and told them to just sit tight. He had a friend, which usually meant another hunter, over in Tennessee who was already looking into the case. They were suppose to wait on a call, but Sam wanted to get to it. He felt for this kid, and if there was any hope he was still out there alive, he wanted to find him.

Dean slid into the booth across from him, interrupting his thoughts.

"This town isn't a total waste." He said, sliding a flyer across the table.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT ONLY

JIM'S BAR AND ROADKILL GRILL

.38 SPECIAL

FEATURING Don Barnes and Donnie Van Zant

Sam looked up. "Yeah, so?"

"Can you believe it? .38 Special!" Sam just stared. "Dude, Hold on Loosely, Rocking into the Night?

"_Rock__**ing**__ you in-to the night__. . ." _he sang. Frustrated at Sam's lack of enthusiasm, he sat up straight. "Man, you are such a girl."

"We're on a job, Dean."

"We're not even sure there is a job." Dean was still smiling, "We've just broke out of hell… well, you more than me, but I say – **Let's rock the house tonight**." Sam shot him a wary look, so he lowered his voice. "Besides, we're not suppose to do anything until we hear from Bobby's friend."

Dean's fervor was contagious. Sam smiled, "Okay, sure, why not. But I'm not eating at anyplace called the 'Roadkill Grill'".

"Right"

* * *

Joe's Bar and Roadkill Grill sat on 10 acres, more or less, 6 miles south of town. The building itself took up a good acre of the land and the parking lot took up the rest. The sun was going down and traffic into the lot had been bumper to bumper for a good mile. Parking was being directed by guys in white T-shirts waving flashlights like they were landing airplanes.

As soon as they climbed out of the car, Dean could smell the Bar-B-Q from the open pit in the back. They both realized that grabbing a couple of burgers on their way out had been a mistake.

Inside, the building was divided in two by a huge open rectangular shaped bar. To the left was the restaurant area. The pair noted several tables were full of people eating. To the right, the tables were the high pub style with stools around them. A second bar was located against the furthest right wall. A stage stood in front of the dance floor against the back wall.

"Are you all here to eat?" a hostess carrying a stack of menus appeared in front of them suddenly.

"Uh, No." Sam stammered. "We're just here to see the band."

"Oh." She seemed to look a little disappointed. "Then just grab you a table anywhere you can find one over there." She pointed to the area they had already pegged the 'bar' part of the "Bar and Grill" which was getting pretty full. As then began she grabbed Sam's arm. "If your big fans, you'll want to get over there." She pointed to an area between the smaller bar and the dance floor. "They'll be coming in through that door."

"Thank you" Sam had no intention of repeating her comment and began towards the center bar, but looking up he saw Dean making a b-line to the area she had pointed to. 'Damn' he thought as he followed his brother.

From the bar Dean watched the table full of women near the door. He smiled, watching one attempt to bounce a quarter into the empty shot glass in the middle of them. He occasionally caught the buxom brunette facing him looking his way. She'd advert her eyes when he made contact.

"Dude." Sam sat on the stool beside him. "This is **not** .38 Special" he nodded to the band on the stage.

"No." he shook his head. "This is the house band. They're coming on in a couple of hours. I guess Barnes and Van Zant have to get pretty liquored up before they play in front of thiscrowd."

Glancing over, Dean noticed the brunette was now alone. Her friends were on the dance floor.

"Excuse me, Sammy." He stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"You have to attack while they're separated from the heard." He grinned, heading around the bar. He noticed this time she didn't look away.

"You don't dance?" He asked, motioning towards her friends.

"I don't guess the right cowboy's asked." She grinned up at him.

Dean tipped his imaginary hat and attempted a Texas drawl. "In that case, mame, would you care to do a little two step around the dance floor?"

She seemed to think it over before standing. "Well, let's see if you can keep up."

* * *

About half an hour later Dean escorted her over to the bar where he and Sam had been sitting.

"What are you drinking?"

"Beer's fine."

He held up 2 fingers to the bartender and started looking around. As he paid for the drinks, he leaned forward and asked, "Did you see my brother?"

"Left."

"Left?"

"Yeah, said something about life being too short. Not really a party guy, is he?" Sliding the change over.

"Well, he's more of a Donna Summer fan, you know?" Dean joked. The bartender just nodded, making him wonder if he had a few disco tapes in his truck.

"Your friends are staring." He bent in to tell her.

"They're trying to decide if you're a serial killer or not."

"Oh." He raised his beer to them and smiled. "Think I've got them fooled?"

"I'm pretty sure they've got your number." She set her beer down, taking his hand and leading him back to the dance floor as the band started playing Black Magic Woman. She slid into his arms, pressing her body tightly against his.

"Where'd your friend go?"

"Er, well, he had to go and get supplies, you know. . . duct tape, saw blades, plastic wrap. Stuff like that." She laughed with him.

"So I'm guessing if I went back to the hotel with you, we wouldn't be alone."

Dean stopped on the floor. "You want to go now?"

"No. Not now. .38 Special's coming on in a few minutes, dumbass." She grinned at him. "**After **the show. I mean, if you play your cards right, and work on that two-step." She twirled away from him, then headed back to the bar as the song ended.

* * *

"I don't care where you go." Dean was screaming in the cell phone, trying to be heard over the music which was still loud, even in the far corner of the bathroom.

"Well, take your computer and your geek squad shit somewhere else, Sammy! I'm telling you, this chick is H-O-T!" He was becoming aware of the other men staring at him. He grinned, pointed at the phone and shrugged to the room. "Brothers." Then went back to the call. "C'mon, at least act like you're a guy."

Finally satisfied, he hung up and started to walk across the room. At the door, his path was blocked by a man a head taller than him wearing jeans and a half buttoned flannel shirt. His ball cap promised "Free Mustache Rides".

"You've been with Amy Bryant all-night, ain't you, boy?" The man asked over crossed arms.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah."

"Word of advice." He began, unfolding his arms and putting one around Dean's shoulder. "You might want that brother of yours to stand by. You know, for back-up."

Laughter filled the room as he patted Dean's back and walked off.

* * *

She felt Dean erupt inside her. As he raised his hips to go deeper, she leaned back, taking in all of him, tightening her muscles to extend his pleasure – she loved the way his face tensed at climax, then suddenly relaxed. His smile almost brought her to orgasm again.

She rolled off him, never breaking her hold of his wrist until she was securely under his arm with her head on his chest She could feel his heartbeat.

"Do you need a break?"

"Hell, I need a cigarette." He chuckled.

She rolled onto her back.

"I've actually got a ½ pack in the pocket of my purse."

He thought for a moment, did he really want to move? Hell, he really needed a break, a glass of water. After almost two hours, his bodily fluids were spent. He reluctantly began to roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed, unsure if he was going to be able to stand up. She had ridden him hard from the moment they walked through the door. Truth was she had driven him crazy on the dance floor with moves he'd never seen. To hell with the job, this was better therapy than fighting any monster. He thought back to the time they'd spent at the bar.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I confiscated them from my son earlier today and haven't thrown them away yet."

He stopped, half standing beside the bed. "You've got a son?"

"Not something I tell _most _guys I pick up in a bar." She laughed, "Not very sexy." She swung those long legs off the bed and stood up. Dean watched her cross the motel room to the bathroom where she turned on the light. 'Man, what a body', he thought, 'they didn't make mothers like that when I was growing up'

"What is he, 4? 5?" he asked, trying to gage her age.

"He's 13" she called back over the running water in the sink. He watched in the mirror as she began to rinse her face, neck and chest.

'What the hell', he thought, 'that's breakfast conversation.' With that he allowed his feet to move to where her purse lay just inside the door where she'd dropped it, along with most of their clothes, when they bound into the room, already locked in passion. He raised the purse to the chair and started to reach for the pack of Marlboro's that were poking out of the side. Suddenly he stopped. Something was wrong. He lifted the purse again, only a few inches, then turned to the bathroom. The door was shut now.

He unzipped the bag – the splinter of light from the parking lot caught the flash of steel. 'What's a mother doing with this shit?', Dean thought – staring down at the gun. He franticly rummaged further, past a billfold, brush, make-up case. Was this handcuffs? The bathroom door was opening. He grabbed the gun and leveled it at her.

"What the hell. . ." she froze, the gun pointed between her eyes.

Dean stared at the silhouette of the woman he'd just made love to, outlined by the light from the doorway behind her.

"Okay Lady, who are you and what do you want?"

"Please, put the gun down." She said hands raised.

"I asked you a question." He snapped back. "Who are you?"

"I told you." Her voice started shaking now. "I'm a single mom who was just out with some girlfriends trying to have a good time. Now, please, put the gun down." She shifted her weight nervously.

"Uh uh." He said, empting the contents of her purse on the floor between them. "And I guess all this shit is just party favors." He kicked at the handcuffs to emphasize his point.

"Is that what this is all about? " She squared her shoulders, the fear was gone and replaced with anger. "YOU go through MY purse and decide _**I'm**_ some kind of PSYCO."

Furious, she stomped across the room, past the barrel of the gun, past Dean, and past the pile of clothes. He was too shocked to respond. She flipped the light switch on the wall behind him. The dingy motel room was bathed in light.

Dean turned slowly keeping the gun pointed at her, but with less enthusiasm.

"Okay, Sherlock," she yelled, knelling to the floor to collect her belongings, "While you were snooping around in there, did you happen to even look at this?" She thrust something towards him.

Dean stared down at the badge. "You're a cop?"

She snapped the badge case closed and threw it in the bag.

"You're a COP?" he asked, louder.

She continued to ignore him, gathering her possessions from the floor where they had scattered.

"You're a cop." This was a statement. He knelt down to help her, laying the gun aside. Their hands met on the handle of her brush and they both looked up. She was crying. Oh shit, why was she crying? Cops didn't cry.

"Look…" Dean began, "I'm sorry. It's just . . ." What did he say? 'I thought you were a demon? He reached to her face with both hands and gently began to wipe the tears away. "You. . . you didn't tell me you were a cop."

She tried to laugh through the tears. "Something else I don't usually tell guys I pick up in a bar." She pulled her face away and looked back down at the floor. "Look, this was a bad idea." Still gathering items from the floor, "It's just" She glanced at him for a moment, then reluctantly went on. "Jason's dad's been dead 5 years now and . . . and I don't date. . . and…" She stopped and sat up, leaning back against the bed, resigned to tell her story, "And my friends dragged me out tonight to hear the band, you know." She sniffled, "a few drinks, maybe a dance or two. . .", Dean crawled towards her, "and then, there you were" He stopped as she suddenly stared into his eyes, accusingly.

He felt a warmth rush over him. He wanted her more than ever. But not the rough, frantic sex they'd had the last two hours. No, he wanted to hold her, to caress her, to kiss her. To make her alright.

He sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. With his other hand, he turned her face to his. He began kissing the dried tears from her check. Then she was in his arms, kissing him back. And their lips found each other. Her lips brushed his like a feather. Once. . .twice. . . her tongue slowly outlined the opening of his mouth.

Dean suddenly realized how aroused he had become and pulled her closer – gently lowering her to the floor. She allowed him to mount her, wrapping her arms and legs around his hard, sensual body.

He wanted inside her. Not just her body – her mind, her heart, her soul. His hips rose and lowered smoothly to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her body moved, rising up to meet him, pulling away . . . as if she were moving to his heartbeat and the world was in tune to them both.

His forearms rested on either side of her head and he'd pushed himself up to look down into her eyes. He'd stop occasionally to brush his lips against hers.

As his pulse increased, so did his movements, and suddenly there was no more time between beats. He braced himself as he exploded inside her.

He lay there. He wouldn't let go. He didn't move because moving might mean sliding out of her, and he couldn't.

She kissed his ear and he rose; only slightly, to kiss her back and to look into those eyes – he wanted to swim in those eyes. Their lips were together again. He had never been so aware of his own body. The tingling from her kiss, the warmth and safety of her arms wrapped tightly on his shoulders, the silky heat of her abyss surrounding him.

He felt himself become engorged inside her.

"You're a cop." Was all he could say as they began to rock to the rhythm of the world, again.

Reluctant but exhausted, Dean rolled off her. His arm still around her neck, he pulled her close. She didn't resist.

Breathless, she lay there, her hand absently rubbing his chest sent a wave of ecstasy washing over him.

"What's this?" she asked, rubbing the anti-possession symbol he had tattooed just below his collar bone.

He held his breath. Had she found him out? He wanted her to. He wanted to tell her – tell her everything. His whole life – on the road with John; hunting with Sam; the demons; the apocalypse; even his time in hell, – all of it. He exhaled.

"Nothing, just a band I was in when I was a teenager." The lie stung.

"_Really?_" She propped herself up and looked down at him. "You must not have been very good."

"Why would you say that?" Weird, he thought.

She let her finger rise up to the scar from a bullet shot. He tried to laugh it off.

"Nothing to do with the music," She kept looking down at him and he hated the skepticism in her eyes. "What can I say?" He chuckled, "misguided youth."

He pulled her to him and started kissing her. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to lie to her.

She pulled away. "No, No, No." There was a teasing tone to her voice. "You know my secret; at least tell me something real about you."

His heart stopped. Dean pulled himself to a sitting position. What was real anymore? Twenty-four hours ago he was driving down a highway, angry that he couldn't make a _real_ life with Lisa. They'd had their own form of 'don't ask-don't tell'. She didn't want to know the details of all that he had done and seen. She'd gone through a scare when Ben had been taken by a changling. She'd let him know right off the bat that was more information than she needed about his life. And he hadn't wanted to tell her. At the time, he thought he just didn't want to scare her. He didn't want to corrupt her with the truth – what was out there. But now, here with Amy, he was having his doubts. Here he was in a cheap hotel room with a woman he'd just met and he wanted to tell her everything. He opened his mouth to start, and suddenly an image of Cassie popped into his head. He closed his mouth. The only woman he ever loved had thrown him out when he told her the truth.

Noting the pause, she added, "I want the truth."

"Okay." He sighed deeply, "The truth is, I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Well, shit" she slapped his hand away. The warmth and softness was leaving her.

"What?"

"I asked for something _real,_ Dean." She snapped, pulling away.

"That _was _real." He responded, confused.

She was on her feet, pulling a sheet off the bed and wrapping it around her body. She was Eve, just realizing she was naked.

He pulled the purple and green flowered cover off the bed and covered himself – Adam had bitten the apple too.

"I'm not some brainless 20 year old kid who's just going to fall for the first cheesy line you throw out."

He was painfully aware of the nightstand handles digging into his back as he tried to retreat from her anger, but then she was suddenly calm again, sitting beside him.

"I'm sorry. It's just . . . I've never done this – I mean, **never. **It was just meant to be a night out with the girls – you know – fun. And there you were. . ., and you were. . .you were "

"Were what?'

"You were safe."

Dean smiled. "Safe?" He didn't expect that.

"Yes." She struggled to find the words to explain. "This is a small town." He agreed, "As best I can tell, you're just passing through." Another nod of agreement. "To you I'm not somebody's mother or widow or a cop. To you, I was just. . ."

"Just what?"

"Just a woman." She looked at him with a sorrow he knew all too well. "Do you know how long it's been since I could be _just_ a woman?" Looking away, she went on. "But then. . ." she chuckled, motioning toward her bag and the gun still laying there. "Hey, I'm not asking for your life story, but I would appreciate **some **honesty."

It was his turn. Dean felt the tears in his throat before they reached his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but finally broke contact and hung his head. Had she seen?

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "It's just. . . my life is. . . complicated." And then she was there, in his lap, arms around him, holding him, comforting him, rocking him. She kissed the top of his head while his tears ran down her shoulders.

When they stopped, she raised his face to hers and kissed him, gently at first, but then harder. She bit his lower lip, holding it in her teeth as she pulled away. He kissed her back – hard, angry – and she returned his passion. He grabbed her – half lifting, half throwing her on the bed. She didn't resist, instead she ripped off the sheet and pulled him on top of her.

Dean thrust himself into her. She screamed, then pulled him down again. He thrust harder and this time she rose up to meet him.

"Yes" she whispered in his ear, "This is the honesty I want."

He continued, harder and faster – her screams of pleasure louder and louder as her nails clawed at his flesh. With each thrust he drew deeper – not only in her, but in him – the anger, the fear, the hurt, the shame – all those things he had buried were suddenly being thrust into her – and she was taking it all from him. Gladly. Begging for it, "More, Dean, more."

Did she know? "Yes, yes. " And then he felt it. With the power of a bullet he shot into her.

He heard someone scream – it was him. Then, he was washed in sweat and peace. Dean Winchester had just ejaculated a lifetime of pain into this woman.

Her touch was gentle again as she wiped the sweat from his forehead, running her fingers on up to his hair.

"Better?"

He kissed her – forehead, nose, lips. "Much."

Spent, they lay side by side. The mattress was now half off the bed and the edge of the springs underneath began to push into his back.

"I never did get that cigarette." He said with a smile.

Amy began to laugh. "After that, I may need one, too." She kissed him lightly on the check and rolled off the bed. He followed, watching her walk across the room – she really was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She turned the water on in the sink, then turned back to him and grinned.

Sheet in tow, Dean walked over to the desk in the corner. Every motel room had the standard 'office' area, but he pitied the poor bastard whose job landed him in this sleazy place. The red shag carpet was bad, but the pictures of the rocket ships launching just put it over the edge.

He lit the cigarette and drew in. Dean only smoked about five times a year – usually after great sex or great tequila. He'd had a lot more of the tequila the past few years. He was smiling, shaking his head in disbelief.

The sound of the shower brought him back to Kentucky.

The door to the bathroom was still open. He walked slowly toward it, watching the room fill up with steam. "Feeling dirty?" he asked her from the doorway.

She pulled back the shower curtain to reveal her body covered in soap suds, her wet hair slicked back. "Funny," she smiled seductively, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Dean dropped the sheet in the floor and the cigarette in the sink. He didn't need to be asked twice. Behind the curtain, he was enveloped with the warmth of the water and Amy.

The shower hit his back as he faced her. She wet his hair, leaning his head back to let the water cascade down his face. With soft, circular motions, she began washing his body, starting at his neck, then his shoulders and his arms. She reached behind him and cleansed his back, pressing her breast to his. She eased her hands down, massaging the soap into his lower back. Her body slid down as her arms worked their magic behind him. She was kissing his chest, moving down as she lowered herself in front of him.

She found herself amazed at the muscular build of this man before her. She couldn't stop touching him, wanting him. She kissed down the line of abs, stopping at his navel to playfully tongue the area. She felt him suck in his breath, and laughed to herself. There was no need to pull in his stomach, she was already impressed. She felt his rod rubbing against her neck as it rose to attention. When her hands reached his buttocks, she leaned back, looked up at him smiling. He smiled back.

Slowly, softly she began to lick around the head of his scepter, her warm breath sending a shiver up him. She teasingly licked off the fluid that had seeped out. Looking up at him, she licked her lips.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something, anything – baseball, cars, puppies. NOT YET! She shot to the base of his cock, and licked all the way up. BASEBALL.

Dean grabbed the shower curtain to steady himself. She did it again. CARS.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him. He could feel her eyes looking up at him, and he knew if he looked back he wouldn't be able to control himself. She took him into her mouth. Her hands pushing him in from behind. Back and forth she rocked – pulling him in and out of her wet, warm mouth. Her tongue would playfully flick the head as she pulled him out.

He couldn't stop it. He burst in her mouth like a geyser and she eagerly swallowed, then licked every drop – consuming him. When she was through, he fell to his knees in front of her, bringing the shower curtain with him. The water rained down on them. He didn't care. He grabbed her face and kissed her – her eyes, her checks, her lips. He wanted to devour her.

She reached behind him and turned off the water.

11


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Sam knocked softly, his ear pressed to the door. With no answer, he shifted his weight and knocked again, louder. "Dean?"

He looked around the parking lot. The Impala was parked in the motel lot, the only car remaining in the row in front of the doors. He knocked again. "Dean, you in there?"

He tried the door – locked. He knocked harder. "Dean!" he yelled. Then he pulled his key from his pocket and opened the door, pushing hard against something in the floor in front of it, then reached over and flipped on the light.

One look at the room and he immediately reached behind him and pulled his .9mm from his belt. "Dean!" He called again. The mattress was pulled half off the springs, lying across the floor and resting at the closet door. The bedding was strung around the room, one sheet, he noted, had been lying in front of the door.

Cautiously he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 'What the hell had happened here?'

Dean's jacket lay in the floor in a heap beside the door. The corner desk lay broken, the single leg kicked out. A trail of towels led from the shattered desk to the bathroom. He could see the shower curtain torn and hanging through the mirror.

"Dean!"

"Sammy?"

He looked around.

"Dean?" he called again.

"SAMMY!" Dean bellowed from somewhere inside the room. Suddenly, the mattress began to move, and Dean's head popped up over the exposed box springs.

"Are you alright?" he asked, unsure if he should move.

"Alright? **Alright**? Dude, I'm great!" Dean's smile lit his face. Sam didn't know that smile, he couldn't remember seeing it. It seemed to spread as Dean rose up, his arms extended. He was trying to untangle himself from a sheet as he stood.

Sam sighed and turned his back to Dean. "Could you get some clothes on?"

"Hey, Amy." Sam could hear movement behind him. "Amy? Where is she?"

"Who?" Sam asked a slight agitation in his voice.

"The Lady I was with last night? Was she here when you came in?"

Sam turned back around. "Shit!" He picked up Dean's boxers from the floor and pitched them over to him.

"There was no one here when I came in – just you and this. . .this mess."

The smile was fading fast.

"Amy!" He ran to the bathroom door and stuck his head in. Finding it empty, he ran back to the bed and started pulling the mattress back into place. "Help me Sam!"

Sam grabbed the other side and helped Dean pull the mattress back to its rightful spot. There was no one under there. Dean dropped to his knees and looked under the bed.

"Amy?" he almost whispered.

Sam pulled him up. "Dean, man, there's no one else here. She must have left. Good, right. No need to blow her off."

"No, Sam. It's not good." Dean just looked at him confused, "I didn't want her to leave. "Dude, are you hearing yourself?" Sam chuckled.

Dean ignored him. "Her clothes!" He began digging in the pile at Sam's feet. Quickly at first, then slower as he reached near the bottom. He looked up at Sam blankly.

"She's gone."

"What's wrong with you?"

Dean was staring down at his plate, shifting his eggs with his fork.

"Dean?"

"Uh?" Looking up.

"Are you alright?"

"She just left. I mean, what kind of freaky chick just runs out in the middle of the night?"

"Do you hear yourself? Usually you'd be dancing a jig to get rid of a girl this easy."

He gave a half-hearted grin. "A jig? Really?"

Sam laughed at the image in his mind.

"You know what I mean. Normally you'd be thrilled."

"Not this time." He lowered his head. Sam was right; the hardest part of most of his relationships was leaving the next morning. So why now, why this woman? What was wrong with him?

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes. "You've got to get it together. We're supposed to be here on a job, not fulfilling you Penthouse fantasy."

"One more crack, dude, and I'll kick your ass!"

Sam had never seen him like this. What the hell had gone on in that room?

"Okay, I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head as if that would shake her memory out. "Okay, what have you got?"

"Sixteen year old James Carson disappeared two nights ago during an overnight camp out with three other kids in the wetlands."

"Wetlands?"

"Swamp, Dean. Anyway, two girls and two guys are out at camp, one boy walked a little way off to , eh," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, "relieve himself." He waited for the smartass comment. When none came, he went on. "Anyway, the boy never came back."

What are the other kids saying?"

According to the papers, they heard some noises in the bushes, but nothing else. Authorities are saying he might have got lost. Turned around or something."

"That happens, right?"

" Well, the kid's the fourth person who's gone missing around there in the last month."

"Do you have the name of our little campers?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's go."

"We're suppose to wait on a call from Bobby's friend."

"Screw it." Den was throwing money on the table. "We're here, might as well check it out."

Sam shrugged, following his brother out of the dinner.

Dean looked around the school office. He let Sam take the lead. Places like this still made him sweat. On a bench against the wall he watched as a boy about 13 or 14 sat squirming. (Yeah, he knew that spot well) He was holding an ice pack to his mouth and Dean could make out the bruising just starting to show under his eye. This kid had got his ass kicked.

The school secretary approached.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes mama." Sam nudged Dean as he flashed his badge. Dean followed suit. "I'm detective Paige. This is Detective Plant. I was wondering if you could tell me where we could find these students." He slid the list to her.

"Oh great." The boy sighed. Dean turned to give him a closer look. He was dressed all in black, which set off the spiked bleached hair more. The chains were a little much, he thought.

"Can you give me a minute, Officer." The shrunken lady behind the counter asked, ignoring the comment if she'd heard it.

"You got a problem with cops, boy?" Dean asked.

"Just one." He answered.

"And who would that be?"

The kid started at Dean curiously. There was something familiar about him. "Uh… I'm Det. Bryant's son."

"You're Amy's kid?" Dean snapped.

Sam, who had only been casually monitoring the conversation, was on full alert now.

"You're Detectives?" the boy asked cautiously.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"So, you work for my mom. CHIEF DETECTIVE BRYANT?" They nodded slightly, unsure where he was going with this line of questioning. "She keeps, like, a MILLION pictures of me in that office of hers, and you don't know me."

Dean just continued to stare – yeah, those were Amy's eyes.

"Well, we work in a different precinct." Sam jumped in.

By now Jason had removed the ice pack and sat up. "Dude, its Fulton – there is no other precinct."

"Department." It was Dean's turn to jump in. "He meant Department. We're down from Paducha."

"Yeah, right." He responded, turning his back to them.

The little old lady was back. "Here you go. This is the class schedule for the student's you requested."

Sam took the papers she was sliding across the counter.

Dean couldn't take his eyes off the boy.

"You coming?"

"Yeah." Then he turned to the counter and asked, motioning toward the boy, "What's he in for?"

"Fighting again." She shook her head. "Poor boy." She leaned as far over the counter as her small frame would allow and he leaned down to hear her. "Having to live with, well, you know," she shook her head. "All that mess with his father. And kids can be so cruel." With that she pulled back and returned to her stacks of files.

Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hallway, which was filling up with students rushing to class.

"Who's Amy?"

"My lady from last night." Dean was smiling, that full dimple smile again.

"You almost blew it."

Dean pursed his lips and blew, then strutted down the hall.

Sam caught up to him. "Hey. I'm serious. That kid knows something's wrong. He's probably on the phone to his mom right now!"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Ain't it great!"" and on he strutted, leaving a very confused Sam standing.

The group of teens huddled on the bleachers in front of them, eagerly staring up at Sam and Dean. Although only three had been there, the story had been told and re-told so many times that the other five or six would often jump in to help answer the questions. It wasn't often they got a chance to miss class _and _impress 'big city' detectives.

"So how long was he gone before you started worrying?"

"Not long. Five minutes maybe."

"At first we thought, you know…" the girl lowered her head, embarrassed, "he just needed time." The others chuckled.

"Yeah," Dylan continued from behind, "but after a while we started yelling for him and – no answer."

The others just nodded and smiled, except for the dark haired girl who had been James' date. She stared down at the seat in front of her. Sam sympathized with her.

"No reason you know of he would just – take off?" Sam was asking.

They shook their heads, "No!"

Dean felt her before he saw her. She was standing at the other end of the bleachers, staring down at them.

"I think that about does it for now, don't you?"

Sam turned questioningly to Dean, but he was staring down field at the rather stern looking woman coming towards them – that damn smile back on his face.

"Uh, Yeah,Uh, we'll be in touch." Sam's heart was pounding, "You can go back to class now."

The kids groaned, reluctantly gathering their things and heading off.

Sam's gaze moved from Dean to Detective Bryant, who continued to approach with determination. The juxtaposition between his smile and her frown was amazing.

"You owe me a breakfast." Dean sang out once she was in range. Sam just stared in disbelief.

She moved closer, making no acknowledgement of this comment.

"Det. Paige. Det. Plant. I'm Det. Zeppelin."

Dean lowered his head, chuckling slightly.

"You, uh, caught that, did you?" Looking back up with a sly smile.

"The accent doesn't mean stupid, DEAN."

Sam wasn't sure whether to be confused or scared – he opted for both. He stood there, mouth open, heart in his throat.

"I met your son."

"I heard." With this, she cross her arms and shifted her weight to one hip, exposing the Glock .45 holstered there.

"You any good with that?"

"You _really_ want to find out?"

"No." he shook his head, the smile was fading slightly, "not really."

"What are you doing here?"

He nervously shifted his weight, then the smiled returned.

"Would you believe, looking for you?"

"Sure, because when I got up today I decided to start falling for every line I hear."

Her face began to thaw and Sam detected a slight up turn at the corners of her mouth and his heart started to slid back down to his chest.

"Speaking of getting up today. . ." She blushed.

Sam felt like he had been transported into a John Hughes film. The pair was just standing there, staring at each other. He cleared his throat.

"Oh." Dean looked over at him. "This is my brother, Sam Winchester."

He looked at him in disbelief. Was he giving this CHIEF Detective their real names?

"Hello." He muttered.

She nodded back.

"So. . ." she motioned to the bleachers and the three of them sat down. "I know you're not out of Paduca. I know you're not Detectives."

"You sure?" Dean's teasing was met with a matter of fact nod, but there was still that trace of a smile in her eyes.

"What's you interest in the Carson boy's disappearance?"

"The family asked us to…"Sam began a stock lie, but Dean held up his hand, cutting him off.

"Do you suspect foul play?"

She exhaled heavily and shook her head.

"But not human." Dean was all business now.

Their eyes locked. Sam stared on dumbfounded.

She finally broke contact and stood up. "Tell you what. It's too late for breakfast, but I'll let you buy me lunch.

"Fair enough."

"You still at the Motel?"

"Yeah, but I had to, eh" Dean chuckled, "I had to change rooms. Last one got a little. . . messy. You know how it is."

"I can imagine." She smiled slyly.

God, he wanted her again. Right then, right there.

"Okay. Why don't you two run by Tastee's and pick us up some burgers – and rings. I've got to run by my office, and I'll meet you out there in, say, 45 minutes. Room?"

"216." He nodded. ". Sounds good." As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm, sliding his hand down, past her wrist until his hand had grasped hers – fingers entwined. He pulled her close and lightly kissed her. "Thanks." He whispered.

They left in separate directions, none of them aware of Jason staring down from the second floor Chemistry Lab.

"Are you crazy?" They were 5 miles down the road before Sam found his voice.

Dean grined over at him, Zepplins 'What is and What Never Should be' blaring

"What?"

"You realize 'going to the office' is code for 'finding out who you are and getting back up."

"I don't think so, Sammy."

"Why, because you screwed her so hard she pulled down the shower curtain?"

"Hey!" Anger washed over him. Dean pulled the '67 Impala to the side of the road and jerked it into park. He turned his body to face Sam, sure to make his point. "First, you don't talk about her, or me, like that again. I don't expect you to understand what happened between us, but it wasn't something sleazy. Second," a smile crept across his face, "_I'm _the one who pulled down the shower curtain."

With that, he pulled back onto the road and headed to Tastee's, drumming his fingers to '_Riddin the Storm Out'_.

"Can I at least eat before they show up and haul us off?" Sam was sitting at one of the two chairs positioned around the small table. The new room didn't have a desk.

"Go ahead, I'm going to wait for her." Dean lay calmly across the first bed, staring at the picture of bears on the wall. Apparently the management thought the rocket ships may have been a little dangerous for them.

Sam jumped when the knock came. He clenched his fist and stared over at Dean, who was grinning at the loss of color in Sammy's face.

"Dude, you really need to relax."

Amy looked down at Samas she entered, his arms were half raised, surrendering.

"What's with him?"

"He's. . ." Dean made a circular motion in the air, "Special."

Sam shot him a mean look and lowered his arms. "Just stretching." He tried to lie.

"O-K" She laid the stack of files on the table in front of him. "Sorry I took longer than I'd expected. I had a few lose ends to tie up at the office before I could take off.

She was wearing jeans now, and a light cotton T-shirt. The V-neck reveled the top of her ample breast. As his eyes moved up, Dean noted a charm around her neck, held there by a leather strap. His eyes began to move to those lips – wait – he went back to the charm.

"I'll be dammed." An Amulet, identical to his tattoo that she had admired so innocently last night.

She ignored the comment, walking further into the room.

"First things first – where's my onion rings?"

Dean moved to the other side of the table, pulling out the chair for her.

"Milady." He said. Once she was seated, he began laying the food in front of her. He opened the small refrigerator in the room. "I didn't know what you'd want. I got Coke, Diet, Water, Juice. . ."

"Coke's fine."

He opened her can and set it in front of her along with a plastic cup full of ice.

He looked down at the bewildered Sam. "You through?"

"Huh?"

"Eating, Sam. Are you through eating?"

"Ahaa, yeah. . . Sorry." Sam quickly cleared away his wrappers and can, making way for Dean to sit down and spread out his own lunch next to hers.

Unsure what to do at this point, Sam stood there wringing his hands.

"Sam." He jumped when she addressed him. "That top file is the Carson boy."

He nodded, still staring down.

She spoke slower. "Why don't you take a look while we finish?" she raised the burger to indict 'eating'.

"Oh, yeah." He chuckled nervously, grabbing the file and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He is special, isn't he." She half-whispered, smiling over at Dean.

Sam started at the grinning couple in disbelief. 'Just read the file' he told himself.

Inside the left cover was a standard Police Report. 911 received a call at 3:37 a.m., lost in swamp. Two officers arrived at scene, called in search and rescue.

Found at the scene approximately 50 yards from campsite; 1 shoe, believed to be from the missing boy.

Sam read through the written statements from the three other kids – the statements identical to what they'd been told earlier that day. There was a manila envelope containing twenty-seven 8" x 10" color photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one. They had pictures of the entrance way, and the exit way and the scene from the north, south, east and west. There were even aerial photographs of the area as well as a map with grids. Each grid had letters or numbers he didn't understand, he'd ask later.

He sat the file aside and reached for the next one on the stack. Amy grabbed his wrist.

"Does Special boy here get queasy?" she asked Dean.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"Nah, Sam'll be alright."

Still holding on, she tugged at his arm for his attention. Looking directly in his eyes, "This is the _unofficial _file. You understand?"

Sam shook his head slowly, trying to convey that he understood the seriousness of what she was about to let him see.

She released his hand and returned to her onion rings.

He opened the file. On top was a picture of a purple Chuck Taylor high-top marred in mud – foot still inside. No leg. The bone had been ripped off about two inches above the ankle. The flesh and sock lay over the rim of the shoe – soaked in dried blood. He quickly flipped to the next picture – a close up of the ripped, dangling flesh. Sam gagged. He dropped the file in the floor and ran to the bathroom.

Dean and Amy pushed the remains of their lunch away as the sounds emanated from behind the door.

"I thought he was okay."

"So did I." Hesitantly, Dean bent down and gathered up the pictures Sam had dropped on his way out. 'Understood, Sam' he thought, as he closed the file quickly.

"Probably should have saved those for last." She commented. He looked up at her and nodded. Sam could still be heard inside the bathroom.

"Look, Amy. . ." Dean started, "About last night. . ." he was looking up into those deep, layered brown pools.

"Don't worry about it – I'm not going to try to hold you to anything."

"No." He grabbed her hand. "That's not what I meant."

Sam opened the door before she could respond. "Sorry" was all he could say.

"My fault. I should have warned you, Special." She walked over and handed him a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Sam drank it fast, ignoring Dean's chuckling at the nickname. When he was ready, he looked over at her.

"I'm sorry, I just wasn't ready for. . . that." He motioned.

"I understand." She was watching him, gauging him. Not in a bad way. He didn't feel anything but genuine concern from her at that moment.

After a few minutes of silence, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. "At first we thought a gator had come up the river. Happens from time to time. It's a little cool right now, but…" she shrugged. "The first one, Tom Johnson, he's a hunter. Stayed out there on the lowlands after deer. We've busted him several times for poaching.

He was gone two days before his wife called it in. We didn't even find his boat until three days later. Most of his gear was still there, along with 3 coons and 5 squirrels."

Sam swallowed, "Is that important?"

"A gator would have took them, too, I'm guessing." Dean jumped in.

She shrugged. "Could be, everybody just got to figuring Tom had wondered off from the boat, sooo."

"Now, " she grabbed one of the files from the stack, "Arvin Keats. He lives down on the water. Retired, raises beagles. He'd been calling in complaining of kids in the swamp, you know, making noise, upsetting the dogs and stuff." She shrugged, "It's not uncommon for a bunch to get out there drinking and partying."

"The next day, two of Arvin's dogs go missing. He figured the kids had 'borrowed' them, but he wanted us to come out and check it out. I sent two guys over to his house. When they got there, no Arvin. He's not been seen since.

"We started searching the area for him" She pulled a map from the file she was holding and began pointing. "Starting from Arvin's house, here," she explained, "we moved into the woods and made our way down to the river." Dean nodded. According to the lines drawn, they had widened the search as they moved deeper into the swamp. This all seemed logical to him.

"During the search, one of my deputies went missing."

The brothers looked up and she nodded back.

"Last transmission we got from him, he said he was going to check out some noise around one of these fishing shacks." She pointed to several small squares along the riverbank. "We checked them all out, but. . . nothing."

"Couldn't it still be a gator?" Sam asked.

She rummaged through the 'unofficial' file. "Could be, but these are the pictures of the area where we found James Carson's, eh, remains."

She passed the photos, one by one, to Dean, who was still sitting in the floor at her feet. He passed them on to Sam. Most depicted nothing more than ground covering, brush and tree roots. One picture, taken from a distance showed a deputy with a measuring tape, dragged from an undetermined item to a tree. The next picture she handed focused on the root of the tree, a single drop of blood lay there. The tape measure read "74.

"No blood - no guts - no gator." Dean sighed, getting up and moving into the chair as Amy shook her head.

"I've got a friend over in Tennessee. He works for Fish and Wildlife, but he's a specialist, too." Before they could ask any questions, she went on.

"Anyway, he's going to 'find' me a gator. That should satisfy most folks around here – keep them from running around in there trying to hunt down the damn thing until somebody else goes missing."

"And in the mean time?" Dean asked.

"In the mean time, I've got to figure out what's _really_ out there and kill the son of a bitch."

"Wait." Realization spread across Sam's face. "You're a hunter?"

"No, Special." She leaned forward to look him directly in the eye, "But I can be a killer, if the situation calls for it."

Her words hung heavy in the air.

"Oh, shit." She jumped up. "Look at the time. I've got to pick up Jason. I'm going to run him to my mom's to stay for a few days. I want him out of town while all this is going on, so I'll be a few hours.

"Want me to come with?" Dean asked, grabbing his wallet and keys.

She turned from the door and stared hard at him, "Now why would I want that?"

"I just thought," he lowered his eyes, "you might want some help with him, he, uh…"

"I can handle my son just fine all by myself, Dean." She looke to Sam, "I should be back around nine or ten."

He nodded his understanding as she walked out the door.

"Man! Where did you find her?"

12


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Sam and Dean had been looking over the files for hours now. Each case had an official and unofficial version, with their own reports, photo's, and notes.

"Dean, look at this." Sam handed him a small sheet of paper with a handwriting note:

**FROM THE DESK OF:**

**DR. ROBERT C. CUMMINS**

**Amy –**

**Talked to Prof H **_WKU_ **– based on distance of b/**

**drop he said psi = to Mack 95 – 100.**

**No W-go I know. To far S anyway.**

**Sent remains for autop – will forward results. **

**Call if you need me.**

**Bob**

Dean stared at it for a minute or two.

"Okay, what's a psi?"

"Pounds per square inch."

"Which means?"

"It has to do with pressure – force – a _hit." _he kept adding to Dean's blank stare.

"So, what does this mean?"

Sam handed him the photo of the blood drop and ruler.

"Okay?"

"What he's saying is, based on the distance from the foot to the drop of blood, something hit this kid hard."

"Like a Mack Truck doing 95 or 100?" Dean smiled, proud of his deciphering that part of note.

"Right"

"What does that?"

Sam shrugged. "He's right about one thing – not a Wiendgo."

Dean looked back at the note. 'W-go'.

"Wait, so you're saying Dr. Bob here's diagnosing monsters?"

"Sounds that way."

"So you think he's a hunter?"

"I don't know what he is."

The knock came around 10:00. Dean opened the door to find Amy and a man slightly taller than Sam. By his face, he figured him to be around 35, muscular build and a clean shaven head. According to the tight black T-Shirt he was a Rolling Stones fan. He wore a Rutger .9mm on his right hip and was carrying a .12 gauge shotgun, which he set just inside the door as they entered.

"Hey." Dean leaned in to kiss her, but she brushed past him.

"Guys, this is Tony. Tony, this is Dean and Special."

"Sam." he corrected her.

Tony grinned, then shook Dean's outstretched hand.

"I kinda figured Bobby Singer'd be with you boys. "Tony commented.

"You're the one who called Bobby?" Sam asked. This threw him a little off guard.

"Yeah." Tony replied, still grinning. "I really just called with a few questions, but he volunteered some help, and I'm not one to say no." he chuckled.

"Well, we weren't far." Dean explained. "I guess Bobby figured it'd be easier for us to head on down then for him to spend three or four days on the road."

"Guess he's staying pretty busy, too." Tony added.

Dean stared at him, puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Sam, who practically shouted, "So, how do you know Bobby?'

"By reputation, mainly. But we've run into each other on the road from time to time, working a job." Tony's smile had faded and he became more serious.

"So, you guys come up with anything?" Amy asked, grabbing a piece of cold pizza from the box lying there.

"Ahaa… not really." Sam came to life. "It could be a number of things, pretty hard to narrow it down at this point." Sam shut the file. "Then there's the dogs, that's weird."

She shoved the box across the table. "Tony. You hungry?"

He reached behind Dean and grabbed a piece of the pizza.

"Don't suppose you got a beer to go with this." It was more of a statement.

Dean opened the cooler at this feet and handed Tony a bottle.

"Amy?" she nodded, still chewing.

Sam sat silent, watching Dean open her beer and wipe off the top with a paper towel laying there. When he finally settled back in his chair, Sam went on.

"Says they were in a pen 6 foot high and it was still closed."

"Yeah." She washed down the pizza. "I'm not sure Arvin was wrong about them being 'borrowed'"

"There were 10 dogs left." Tony added, "So anything that's gonna take a grown man would probably take more than two dogs." He walked across the room and sat on the other bed.

"You ever have anything like this before?" Dean asked her.

"Bought a year ago we had three boys go missing on down the river in Tennessee." Tony jumped in. "Same M/O – no blood or tracks found around the campsite. But hunters – game hunters-they'll wander a mile or two from site. If there was any trace of what happened it could have got washed away long before we made it there.

"Truth is, folks get lost in these swamps from here to Louisiana – it's usually just wrote off as snakes or gators or drowning."

"So what's the difference with this one?" Sam asked.

"Shit boy, did you see that foot?"

One hour and half a case of beer later the group was no closer to an answer. Amy yawned and stretched.

"Maybe we should take this up in the morning." She said, standing. Then, to Tony, "You driving back down tonight?"

"Nah. I'm just going to get a room here – wouldn't want the local PD to hit me with a DuI." He chuckled, holding up his beer.

"You don't have to do that." Dean jumped in. "You can bunk with Sammy, here. He's got the room next door."

"I do?" Sam looked up, shocked.

Dean laughed nervously, pulling a key from his pocket.

"Yeah, remember, you bitched about my snoring so bad I had to get you your OWN ROOM."

"That'd work out great for me." Tony said, taking the key from Dean's outstretched hand before Sam could even move. "That is, if you're sure you don't mind."

"No." Sam said, still a little confused. "You head on over and I'll be there in a minute."

After exchanging good nights with Amy and Dean, Tony grabbed his shotgun, and one last beer before leaving.

"Mind if I use the…" she motioned to the bathroom, slightly blushing, "it's a way down the road."

"No problem." Dean smiled – _that_ smile was back. As soon as the door was closed Sam stepped over to him.

"When did I get my own room?"

"When you went out for the pizza – I figured I'd get it just in case. I thought you'd be happy. You don't have to sleep in the car."

"What are you doing, Dean?"

"Everything I can, Sammy. Now, go – go." He reached for the door.

"We're suppose to be working."

"Oh, I plan on working." Dean was rocking back and forth on his heels, still smiling.

"Stop, okay." Sam snapped, teeth clenched – this removed the smile. "Look, we're about to go up against. . . I don't know what. . . and I can't have you losing your head."

"Dean opened the door, shoving Sam out. "Too late."

"Alone at last." He held out his arms for her. She didn't move. When it became too awkward, he lowered his arms.

"Dean, let's not do this."

"Why?'

"It's just not a good idea, that's why."

"But last night. . . "

"Last night you were just some guy passing through with a band tattoo on his chest."

"And now?"

"And now you're a hunter. You're not just a hunter – you and Sam or like **super **hunters." She smiled slightly at the surprised look on his face. "And_, _we've got something out there. We need to focus on that."

She reached for her keys lying on the table in front of him, but he caught her hand first.

" I don't know exactly what's going on here." He motioned between the two of them, "but I know it's something. . .Look, I'm not good at this, just know that I have **never **felt like this before. I can't help it if I'm a hunter. I can't help it if you are. " her eyes were moist, but so was his.

"I can't afford mistakes." She tried to turn away, but he wouldn't let go. "I've got a kid, I have to have my head together, and so does anybody going in there with me."

He stepped towards her. "I can do this with you, but I can't do it without you."

She fell into his kiss. Her lips fed every hunger he'd ever had.

4

(_Would love comments or criticism, but please be gentle as this is my first time posting_)


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